From Relevance to Prayer
(Cover Photo by Drew Geraets on Unsplash)
This week, Apple unveiled it’s latest smartphone to hit the market: the iPhone X. With sleek features (most noticeably the infinity screen and Face ID), it has great potential to wow the ever-faithful Apple customers who seek to stay up-to-date with the latest technology.
As technology advances, products like iPhones or Galaxy models that were released as short as a year ago soon have less value. Market plans make it easy to trade in products that may be barely a year old so that we can go to bed at night with guaranteed assurance we have the latest technology laying on our bedside table.
For those unable to take advantage of trade-in plans or are unwilling to fork out the cash to purchase products like the iPhone X, we reason ourselves into contentment with whatever model/brand we have, secretly coveting the newest “thing.”
In my own life, this struggle to stay relevant has been real. For the past two years, I have felt like an outdated iPhone in a realm of iPhone X’s.
Being at Yale as an associate chaplain working with a campus ministry is nothing short of challenging. Besides the work of the ministry, there are external factors that can put pressure on one’s state of living in Yale’s hometown, New Haven, CT. Factors like high cost of living, lack of peer community, and being 13 hours away from the closest family member can weigh on a person’s demeanor over time.
These things are normally tossed into my backpack that I throw onto my shoulder, heading out the door to a university where it feels like everyone you talk to is from the highest echelon of society. It should come as no surprise as Yale has attracted and produced top leaders in politics, science, theater, and sports.
Yet, every time, it does surprise me. When I sit across from a student who is sharing about a project they are working on in their minute free time or talking about what country they are going to study abroad for the summer, I have an internalized struggle:
“I’m from this small area that most people don’t even know exists. I’m blue collar. How in the world do I have anything to offer to this student sitting with me?”
Usually, my self-contained monologue ends with me shouting into the chambers of my mind, “WHY AM I EVEN HERE?”
I have nothing to offer these students who agree to meet with me on a bi-weekly basis. I have no published books, no name-brand company titles attached to my name, and no national awards credited to my name (these are the kinds of people that usually grace the college’s hallways and sitting rooms.)
Because of this kind of realization, I’ve had to do some serious soul-searching. While I am far from reaching my destination, I have made at least one important discovery:
The only thing I do have to offer these students is something genuine: my true self.
In his book, In the Name of Jesus, Henri Nouwen tells of his time at Daybreak, a L’Arche community for mentally-handicapped people, and how his accolades didn’t matter to a group of people who had no need to read his books or hear his lectures given at universities such as Yale.
“Not being able to use any of the skills that had proved so practical in the past was a real source of anxiety. I was suddenly faced with my naked self, open for affirmations and rejections, hugs and punches, smiles and tears, all dependent simply on how I was perceived at the moment. In a way, it seemed as though I was starting my life all over again. Relationships, connections, reputations could no longer be counted on.”
Nouwen had to reinvent himself. He had to do something seemingly foreign to him. He goes on to say that he is deeply convinced that "the Christian leader of the future is called to be completely irrelevant and to stand in this world with nothing to offer but his or her own vulnerable self. That is the way Jesus came to reveal God’s love.”
Like Nouwen, I’ve had to learn this lesson the hard way. I have had to let go of any credential I thought had value to my name. I’ve had to “be young in spirit,” and let time continue naturally, aging me as the students I minister to stay the same age. Essentially, I’ve had to let go of the false self and be my true self.
When I think of Jesus and the cross, I think of how level the ground is in which we all come, regardless of social status, age, and ethnicity. The death of Jesus became a pillar of Christian faith that spans generations, both former and those to come. It is this reality that helps me remain stalwart when it comes to ministering on a university campus. It is this truth that tethers my prayers from earth to heaven.
“The leaders of the future will be those who dare to claim their irrelevance in the contemporary world as a divine vocation that allows them to enter into a deep solidarity with the anguish underlying all the glitter of success, and to bring the light of Jesus there.”
